


everything

by Poe



Series: Bite Tattoo 'verse [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (but doesn't believe that), Bite Tattoo 'verse, Biting, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, I just really love Isaac okay, I'm a fluff merchant by nature so, Isaac and Stiles used to date, JUST USE YOUR WORDS BOYS, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Masturbation, Miscommunication, POV Stiles Stilinski, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Derek, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Prequel to 'enough', Scenting, Shoutout to Isaac's scarves, Stiles & Isaac Friendship, Stiles Stilinski is Part of the Pack, Stiles Stilinski's Scent, Stiles has a werewolf kink, Stiles is An Adult, Tattooed Stiles Stilinski, Tattoos, There is sex but the clothes stay ON, This is going to be a series don't worry it'll work out in the end, Tiniest amount of self harm in the first section you can skip it!, Wall Sex, and now they have no boundaries, neurodivergent stiles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-16
Updated: 2021-01-16
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:08:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28792935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poe/pseuds/Poe
Summary: "The indigo of the transfer is striking against his skin, and Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this moment, the last few seconds that feel like the decision whether or not to jump into a freezing lake or not, not knowing how deep it might be.He stretches his throat out, and catches Isaac’s eyes in the mirror, and they flash gold, blink and you’ll miss it quick, and Stiles smiles, a little goofy with nervous anticipation."*(or: Stiles gets *that* tattoo)Takes place before 'enough' so probably best read that first.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, past Stiles Stilinski/Isaac Lahey
Series: Bite Tattoo 'verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2108868
Comments: 15
Kudos: 163





	everything

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jesuisgrace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jesuisgrace/gifts).



> This takes place before 'enough' in this series, I don't know if it'll make sense on its own? Probably? Let me know either way. 
> 
> TW for very mild self-harm in the very first section - it's Derek and it heals immediately but just in case.

“It’s an ancient tradition. We preserve Alpha bites in leather. I’m surprised your mother never told you about it. Every Alpha bite is unique, you realise. Like a snowflake. You want to be a special snowflake, don’t you, nephew?”

Peter holds out the thick black leather strip and raises an eyebrow at Derek. His heartbeat is all over the place, impossible to discern lie from truth, it always has been since he came back, and Derek wonders if maybe even Peter doesn’t know when he’s lying anymore.

Sighing, because what harm can it do, Derek takes the leather and allows his fangs to elongate, pulling his lips back as they do so. Peter smiles, mocking, and Derek bites into the leather, recoiling at the musty scent of it. He pulls back, his _special snowflake_ Alpha bite puncturing the surface, clearly visible.

“Excellent,” Peter says, taking the strip from him. “This’ll do nicely.”

Derek feels a little off balance as Peter leaves, a little vulnerable, and he presses his thumb against his top right fang until it pierces the delicate skin there, before licking away the small drop of blood that forms and heals clean.

*

Stiles presses his fingers to the imprints embedded in the leather, then moves his fingers to the pale skin of his throat, dotted with the same moles that scatter his body. He taps one finger, two, three, down to his pulse point, and breathes in, jagged and rough, and looks directly at his face in the mirror, eyes determined, pupils blown.

There’s a knock on the open bathroom door and Stiles turns, and Isaac is leaning against the door frame.

“You sure you wanna do this?” Isaac asks, and Stiles nods. Isaac grins, face lighting up, and crosses his arms. “You reek of it,” he says.

“Yeah, I know, arousal, whatever, you can’t embarrass me with your werewolf shit anymore,” Stiles says, and waves a tattooed hand at Isaac as though to swat him away. Isaac gives him an odd look.

“No, it’s not – haven’t you realised?” He asks, and Stiles bites his lip, looking down at his shoes. “You have, haven’t you.” Isaac says, and it’s a statement, not a question. “Fuck.”

“Pretty much sums it up, yeah,” Stiles mumbles. Isaac moves, and reaches for Stiles’ hand, pulling it away from his throat and lacing their fingers together. He gives a little squeeze.

“You want me to come with?” Isaac asks, and Stiles looks up at him and smiles a little.

“Yeah, actually. Feel like this one’s gonna suck,” he says. “Could do with the moral support.”

“This’ll drive him crazy,” Isaac says, and it sounds like a promise. “Come on loser, you’ve got an appointment to get to.” Isaac smashes a sloppy kiss to Stiles’ cheek and pulls him out of the apartment, the leather clenched in Stiles’ other hand, and Stiles’ heart hammers hard in his chest, and Isaac glances at him and holds his hand a little tighter.

*

The indigo of the transfer is striking against his skin, and Stiles doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this moment, the last few seconds that feel like the decision whether or not to jump into a freezing lake or not, not knowing how deep it might be.

He stretches his throat out, and catches Isaac’s eyes in the mirror, and they flash gold, blink and you’ll miss it quick, and Stiles smiles, a little goofy with nervous anticipation.

“Your boyfriend will have to wait outside,” the tattoo artist says, and Stiles doesn’t bother to correct him, and Isaac shoots Stiles one last glance before leaving, the door clicking shut behind him.

“You know how it goes,” the tattoo artist says, and gestures to the bench. “Let me know if you need a break, throat’s a bitch.”

Stiles lays down, the bench inclined downwards slightly, and his head tilts down to fully expose his throat, and he can’t let himself imagine what Derek would think if he saw Stiles now, utterly vulnerable, about to be marked, irreversibly. He closes his eyes, focusing on the music playing from the tattoo artist’s laptop, and nods.

The machine hits flesh and Stiles wonders if this is how burning alive feels, as the needle scrapes the ink beneath his skin.

*

There’s a bandage on his neck when he steps out of the door, and Isaac meets him and pulls him close, nosing at the other side of his throat and breathing him in.

“You smell like hospital,” he says, and rubs his cheek against Stiles, nosing up to nudge against his chin.

“Better?” Stiles asks, and Isaac pulls back.

“You smell like pack again now, so, yeah. And you got the bite and everything. What does that make you?” Isaac asks, and Stiles has to resist clamping a hand over the bandage, the tattoo beneath it stinging.

“Hungry,” he says, instead of answering for real. “I’m starving.”

“We could eat,” Isaac shrugs, and links his arm with Stiles’. “Saw a burger place a couple of blocks away, sound good?”

“Sounds good,” Stiles says, and lets Isaac lead the way, still slightly dazed by what he’s done.

*

After burgers, they go back to the apartment they share, and Isaac makes sure Stiles isn’t about to pass out or die or anything before leaving to run some errands, and that leaves Stiles alone, and so he finds himself back in front of the bathroom mirror, peeling at the tape holding the bandage on, and the tattoo artist said to leave it on for a few hours, but he needs to _see_ it.

He winces as he pulls the tape back, but the more the black mark is revealed, the more hasty his movements get, the more shaky. He drops the bandage in the sink with shaking fingers and stares at the black bite mark, _Derek’s bite_ , and the left over adrenaline and newfound arousal hit like a lightning bolt and he moans, palming himself through his jeans as he imagines the way Derek will look at him, the red flash of his eyes, the growl as he tells Stiles that he’s pack, that he belongs, that he’s as much wolf as the rest of them. Stiles stretches out a hand and _believes_ , slamming and locking the bathroom door through sheer willpower, before shucking his jeans and boxers and sitting heavily on the rim of the bathtub, cock already leaking and flushed dark, and he imagines Derek’s hand, Derek’s mouth on his throat, teeth lining up and sinking in and –

He comes so hard the bathroom light flickers, the glass of the bulb cracking. He sits, breathing heavy, for a long moment, before letting himself slip down to the tiled floor. He feels impossibly tired, and it takes all his energy to half-heartedly clean himself up and make his way to his bedroom, where he falls onto the bed and drops down into a deep sleep.

*

He can’t stay away from Derek forever, and Isaac keeps side-eyeing him every time his hand moves to the new tattoo, and he knows he reeks of _want_ , only now he’s – he has this mark on his skin that means something he’s not sure he can think about. He knows Derek looks at him a little too long sometimes, he knows Derek’s scent changes around him just as readily, Isaac’s told him that, Erica’s told him that, even Scott’s begrudgingly admitted it. Peter seems to revel in the chaos of it all, helping Stiles get the bite in the first place, and whilst Stiles still doesn’t trust him as far as he can throw him, he has his uses.

“Derek misses you,” Isaac says, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

“Hardly,” he says, and resists the urge to touch the tattoo again.

“Every time the door opens, he looks for you. Even though he knows it isn’t you. It’s kinda pathetic, I almost feel sorry for him,” Isaac says, and stretches out on the bed across from where Stiles is leaning against a beanbag.

The tattoo is healed now, a mix of the lotion the tattoo artist sold him and the innate magic that’s building in Stiles all the time now, sparked alight from sodden embers into something close to a bonfire, and he can feel it, protecting him, protecting his pack, protecting his town.

“Just let me know before you go over there,” Isaac adds. “I want to warn the others to stay well clear. Feel like it could get – well. If someone had my bite on their skin I don’t know what I’d do. It’s – intimate. He’s gonna wreck you.”

Stiles pulls out the marble he uses to ground himself and spins it gently in the air above his palm, trying not to think about what _might_ happen. It’s no use, and the marble spins faster and faster until Stiles has to close his fingers around it and let the spark burn itself out.

“I’ll go over tomorrow night,” he says eventually.

“You don’t sound excited,” Isaac remarks.

“Feels like I did this without his permission. So many people have done so much without his permission. I didn’t – _fucking_ – think. I just did it. What if he hates it?” Stiles asks, and runs a hand through his hair.

Isaac sighs. “You two have been playing this game for years now. If this is what it takes – he won’t be mad. He might not understand it, but he won’t be mad. You know Derek, he doesn’t let himself have nice things.”

“Am I a nice thing?” Stiles asks, and grins lopsided as Isaac flips over and crawls off the bed to press a not quite so chaste kiss to his lips.

“You’re a very nice thing,” Isaac says, close enough to kiss again, before pulling back.

*

Stiles turns up at the loft the next night with one of Isaac’s scarves wrapped tightly around his neck, throat bobbing against the scratchy fabric every time he swallows, reminding him of the constricting feeling of a panic attack looming.

Derek slides the door open before Stiles can even knock, and looks him up and down like he’s searching for something different, something new, and Stiles wonders if the rest of the pack have managed to keep his secret or not.

“Where have you been hiding?” Derek asks, and lets Stiles step past him and toe his shoes off.

“Around, you know, just, things. Busy. Magic things. Always with the,” Stiles wiggles his fingers vaguely, “learning of magic.”

Derek sniffs.

“You reek of Isaac,” he says.

“We live together, so yeah,” Stiles says.

“That’s his scarf,” Derek points out, and Stiles is aware of that, is so fucking aware of the scarf right now hiding the bite mark beneath it.

“Yeah, well, it’s cold out,” Stiles replies.

“You should take it off,” Derek says, voice low. His eyes flash red for a second, so quick Stiles could have believed he imagined it if he didn’t know Derek.

“I’m good, actually,” Stiles says quickly, tapping a rhythm out on the denim of his pants leg. “So I just stopped by to say hi, and I’m realising I haven’t done that, so, you know, hi, and I’m going to go actually because I just remembered that – ”

“Stiles,” Derek says, and reaches for Stiles’ arm, holding it in a way that Stiles could wriggle out of if he wanted to, but he doesn’t want to. Derek’s hand splays over his tattoos in a way that looks like it should always be there, and Stiles can’t help but make a small sound in the back of his throat.

“Please,” Stiles says, not knowing how to finish the sentence.

“What are you asking for?” Derek asks, and reaches for the scarf, and Stiles lifts his chin slightly as Derek unravels it, layer upon layer falling into Derek’s grasp, and that’s exactly how Stiles feels too, layer upon layer falling apart, exposed.

There’s the moment Derek sees the tattoo, and then the next second Stiles is pushed against the wall, throat bare, Derek so close, too close, pressed against him, hips, chest, panting down at him, a low rumble in his chest and Stiles dares to look up into those red eyes and can’t help but part his lips, can’t help but shiver a little.

Derek holds onto Stiles’ hips even as he tries to buck forward, and noses at Stiles’ neck, little huffs of breath escaping and tickling the sensitive skin.

“What are you asking for?” Derek says again, into the crook of Stiles’ neck, and Stiles whimpers, because _everything_. It’s always been everything.

“You,” he manages. “I’m asking for you.”

He’s standing until he’s not, and then Derek’s making sure Stiles has his legs wrapped around Derek’s hips, holding Stiles’ weight completely and pressing his back so solidly against the wall that it feels like it’s going to bruise in the best way.

Stiles can feel how hard Derek is, can feel his own cock throbbing in his jeans, and he moves, desperate for friction, and whines when Derek licks over the bite tattoo, _his bite_ , before – _fuck_ , lining his teeth up, and grazing the ink before adding more pressure, almost as though he might break skin and it feels perfect, dangerous and fucking ridiculous and like Stiles should do something, anything to stop it but he doesn’t want to, and then Derek is pulling away and capturing his lips, and it feels more like fucking than kissing the way Derek uses his tongue and his teeth, and Stiles tries to move his hips again and this time Derek lets him move, rocking with him.

Derek keeps one hand on Stiles’ waist and carefully moves the other to hold Stiles’ hands over his head, pinned to the wall, and Stiles presses his eyes shut because it’s so much, it’s complete overload, everything he’s wanted all happening at once and if this is how he dies, he’ll take it, god, he’ll take it.

Derek moves against him as best he can given their position, and it’s awkward and sloppy and it shouldn’t work and Derek’s mouth keeps slipping away to press kisses to Stiles’ cheeks and chin and back to his throat, any part of Stiles he can reach, and Stiles chases it, chases all of it, and when Derek’s teeth scrape the tattoo again, when they bite the cord of muscle that stretches just above it, it’s like being in the centre of an earthquake and all Stiles can do is hold on, as his body lights up and he comes and comes and comes until he’s sure there’s nothing more he can do but breathe.

He slumps against Derek, sensitive, a little lost, in awe.

Derek rocks against him a couple more times, face buried in Stiles’ neck, before letting out a grunt and almost dropping Stiles, lowering him to the ground as he drops to his knees and shakes, and Stiles collapses beside him, grinning a little manically, slouched against the wall as Derek manages to plant his face into Stiles’ stomach and pant there, like Stiles has ripped the life out of him and then forced it back in reformed.

Stiles runs a hand through Derek’s hair, damp with sweat, and pushes it away from his forehead. Derek’s chest heaves a couple times more before Derek looks up at Stiles, eyes no longer red but that impossible sea glass green and Stiles can’t read the look on Derek’s face, because he’s never seen it before, not even close.

“’s my bite,” Derek mumbles, vowels thick. “On your neck.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, and strokes down Derek’s cheek.

“Why?” Derek asks, and if Stiles didn’t know Derek, he’d think it was wonder.

“I don’t know,” Stiles answers honestly. Then, “You like it though.”

“You don’t know – what it’s like – to see it on you. You have no idea,” Derek says, and raises a hand to grasp for it, and Stiles guides him.

“I’m pack, right?” Stiles says.

Derek shakes his head.

“More,” he says, and then shakes his head again. “You didn’t know. It’s okay. Sorry. For that. I just – I saw it and – I don’t know.”

“I told you I was asking for _you_ ,” Stiles reminds him. “Did I get you?”

Derek looks away, and something in his face closes down, eyes shuttering, back to the Derek Stiles is used to.

“I don’t know,” Derek says simply, when it’s not simple at all. Stiles wishes it could be, just this once.

“We don’t have to be anything,” Stiles says, mentally backtracking, hating the words as he says them. “It can just be this. This is enough, right?”

“Enough,” Derek says, still sounding ragged.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, mostly to himself. He stands on numb legs and heads to the door, pushing his feet into his shoes. He reaches down for the scarf.

“Don’t,” Derek says. “I like – when you smell like me. You’re wearing my mark. You should smell like me.”

“Okay,” Stiles says, and puts the scarf in his pocket instead. “I’m gonna go, I think. But this was – something. I think. Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

There’s a moment when he thinks Derek might ask him to stay. And a moment when he thinks he might ask to stay. But it’s like all his nerve endings are frayed, and he can’t find what he’s looking for. So he leaves.

The street lamps flicker wildly as he walks past them, and he wants to scream, wants to shout, wants to do something that acknowledges what just happened.

*

“Smells like it worked,” Isaac says later, even after Stiles has showered.

Stiles shrugs, one-sided.

“Don’t know.”

“Don’t sweat it,” Isaac says, and Stiles lets Isaac wrap around him, arms tight around his waist, chin hooked over his shoulder. “You’re a good thing. And Derek doesn’t believe he deserves good things. You just have to prove him wrong.”

“Not asking for much, then,” Stiles says, and leans back into Isaac.

“Oh, no, you’re asking for the world, aren’t you?” Isaac says knowingly.

 _Yeah_ , Stiles thinks, _I really am_.

**Author's Note:**

> So I was sitting at 1.6k and then asked Gracie for some ideas and then it was 3k and full of smut and angst and ya know, that'll happen, right?
> 
> Lots of interesting dynamics I want to explore here. I do have a Stiles/Isaac fic uploaded which you could count as canon in this 'verse or not, your choice. Anyway, Stiles and Isaac definitely dated before, and are at a weird pack level of overly comfortable with each other now. Endgame is Sterek for sure, but Isaac is baby and I want nice things for him. There'll definitely be more fics in this 'verse, and I might rope Gracie in to write some AUs to this AU (she has some fuckin' incredible ideas, go bully her).
> 
> I can't promise regular updates, my brain is a little scattered right now, but I love this AU and want to keep adding bits to it!
> 
> Anyway, anyway, you can find me at jbbarnes.tumblr.com and my beautiful, amazing beta and Thirst Advisor Grace at eusuntgratie.tumblr.com
> 
> Comments and kudos let me know I'm doing something right!
> 
> (oh and can you tell how fuckin' ace I am, I spent the entire smut portion just trying to figure out if the position was even possible)


End file.
